I'm a Model Because of My Wig

Chapter 10: Recorded Rants

djklfjklasgdf I'm so sorry for not updating!!

We pull up to the apartment building in which the shoot's taking place just as another one of our cars pulls away. Sure enough, I see my mother making her way through the sliding glass doors of the buildings.

"Are you ready?" Hannah asks, sounding concerned. "It's not too late to back out, you know."

"I'm fine." I paste on my best fake smile for her and reach for the car door. "See you after the shoot."

Hannah waves as I slide out of the car and make my way to the building. I slouch down as I pass the doorman, but then I realize—I have nothing to be ashamed of. It's not my fault I was brought into the modeling world while wearing a costume. So I straighten my shoulders and flash a bright smile at the doorman as I pass him.

As I turn into the building, I spot my mother's jacket around a corner and quickly chase after it. It's not like I want to run into her, but since I have absolutely no idea where I'm going, it might be smart to follow someone who's probably already studied a map of this building ten times.

I scuttle after my mom and soon find myself crashing into her in front of a wood door with shades drawn over the window. I hear her murmur an insult under her breath that's probably not PG, then she turns the knob of the door and ushers me inside.

"Aval—Ava! Hello!" A woman with a clipboard hurries over as soon as I step into the room, shaking my hand fervently. "I'm Lacy, I'm a reporter for The Exposé. Would you mind giving me a couple minutes of your shoot for a quick interview? Our readers would like to know the real deal about you and, uh, Avaline Quinn."

"No, thank you," my mom snaps at the reporter before I can reply. "You can go ahead and tell your readers that there's no deal because there is none. In the meantime, Ava needs to get changed for her shoot, and you should probably leave before we have to get someone to escort you out."

The reporter raises an eyebrow. "With all due respect, Ms....uh...with all due respect, ma'am, we do have permission—"

"Leave, or Ava's not doing the shoot."

The reporter opens her mouth to protest, but an assistant runs up and whispers something in her ear, and she quickly slides out of the room, though not before shooting a final death glare at my mother.

As soon as the door shuts behind the reporter, the assistant turns to me, all business. "Ava, your first outfit is sitting on the rack over there," she tells me, and I hurry off to change.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

An hour and a half later, we're done with the shoot, and my mom and I paste on smiles as we wave to the staff and thank them for having us before hurrying out into the hallway. I'm heading towards the exit door when my mom grabs my arm and pulls me into a corner, glancing around before opening her mouth to speak.

"What were you going to say to that reporter?" she asks.

"W-wha—I-I don't know?"

"Avaline Quinn. I've spent your entire life making sure that you were a successful model and student"—Sure you did, Mom—"and I'm not going to let that all go down the drain just because you decided 'winning' a silly argument with Skyler was more important than your job. Do you know how we survive while having to drive you places 24/7 and go on all sorts of trips with you? Through your paycheck, that's how! What do you think we're going to do if the media finds out who you really are? How ugly you really are? You're never going to get a job again if they do! This will be everywhere, Avaline, do you understand me? I will not have you putting our entire family's lives and reputations in jeopardy just because you decided that you don't like Skyler anymore! As soon as we get home, you're going to take the car, drive over to her house, and apologize. Then you're going to beg her to stop the rumors and fix your reputation."

"Mom, I—"

"Don't 'Mom' me, Avaline. This mess is all your fault, and you're going to take responsibility for it. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. As soon as we get home, you're going straight to Skyler's to apologize."

"But it wasn't my fault! She first posted—"

"I don't care what Skyler posted! Don't you get it? She is worth so much more than you! No one in their right mind would ever care about what you think more than what sh—"

"Excuse me?"

My mom whips around, breathing hard, and scans the hallway. Her eyes land on the reporter from The Exposé, standing with a notebook in one hand and a tape recorder in the other. In less than half a second, her face shifts from angry mother to willing interviewee. But though her mouth is smiling, the rest of her face isn't.

"What are you still doing here?" she asks, her eyes narrowed and angry.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with your daughter," the reporter says sweetly. She turns to me and I meet her cold, emotionless eyes. "Avaline Quinn. It's nice to finally know the truth about—" The reporter is interrupted by the sound of a door slamming, and we both take our gazes off each other to see the door to the room where my shoot took place closing.

A couple seconds later, my mom appears back in the hallway, pulling the assistant from earlier along with her. Her face is practically red, she's so angry.

"Did you set her up to this?" my mom demands as soon as they're not in danger of being heard by anyone inside the room.

"Ms. Quinn—"

"Who gave this dumb reporter permission to remain in the building?" my mom shouts. The assistant looks startled.

"I told her she might be able to get a word with the two of you later," she admits, her voice cracking as she lowers her head to look down at the floor.

My mom looks so mad that I'm surprised she's still able to stand and talk words to the assistant. Meanwhile, I'm shaking myself too, but out of fear, not anger. Is this it? Is this how my career is going to end? Through a recording of my mother yelling at me published in some magazine? Tears sting my eyes but I blink them back, focusing on my mother instead.

"This cannot be legal," my mom says slowly, though her expression clearly shows that she has no idea if this is legal or not. She takes a breath, then another, and then just when I think she's calmed down, she points a finger at the reporter and screams, "You stupid, idiot reporters! What is wrong with all of you? Do you not care about anyone but yourselves? Do you not care about people's careers? About people's paychecks? Are you just out to ruin people's lives? We depend on our daughter for our food, you know! Do you not care if we all just starve? How insensitive are you all?"

The reporter looks stunned by my mother's ranting, but my mom just grabs my hand and yanks me towards the door of the building. I stumble over my own feet, trying to keep up with her as she shoves the door open and pulls us both outside where Hannah's waiting for us, yelling about "private conversations" into her phone.